


And Only Hope Remains

by uncontrollablesobbing_mp3



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), mcyt
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Pandora’s Vault, Post-December 16th, Starvation, dont click please, god i love pandora’s vault, if you don’t like broken bones, more characters and relations tags to be added but this focuses on techno and q, or talk of, that’s a given honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28471473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncontrollablesobbing_mp3/pseuds/uncontrollablesobbing_mp3
Summary: Thud.“Stop it.”Thud. Thud. Thud.“Fucking stop!”
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 161





	And Only Hope Remains

_ Thud. _

“Stop it.”   
  
_ Thud. Thud. Thud. _

“Fucking stop!”

_ Thud, thud, thud.  _

“Stop punching the door, you dumbass, the warden’s gonna come check.”   
  
“It’ll be fiiiiine, he can’t do anything.” 

“He can, he has a goddamn crossbow!”

“Naaaaah.”  _ Thud, thud. _ “I’ll be fine.”

“You might be fine, but I don’t need him getting paranoid and checking all the time, I need my space.” A sigh. “Having you in here with me is too much already.”

“Are you sick of me, Quackity?” The voice from a nearby cell carried over, in between the sound of fists against metal.   
  
“I was sick of you when we first met.”   
  
A laugh, low and smug. “You’re still a sore loser over back then, huh?”

“You ruined my life!” The laughter increased in pitch, the thudding pausing momentarily. “I mean it, Technoblade!”

_ Thud. _ “Whatever helps you sleep, man.”  _ Thud. Thud.  _

Quackity sighed. “Please stop.”

_ Thud, thud, thud.  _

-

Faint murmuring echoed through the cell block, words indiscernible against the steady drip of the crying obsidian. Quackity scooted closer to his door, trying to make sense of his companion’s quiet utterings, but he was still too far away.

He hesitated, but finally managed his question after the murmuring had gone on for a bit uninterrupted. “Techno, are you okay?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“Who are you talking to?”

“Uh.. you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know that, but who were you talking to before?” 

“I… wasn’t talking to anyone.” 

“Yeah, right, and I’m a redhead.” A sarcastic snicker escapes his mouth. “Are you praying or something?”

A pause. He can hear Techno shift around on his cot. “No. It’s just the voices.” He says flatly, and Quackity sputters at the words.

“Wh- I-  _ Voices _ ?”

“Yeah, voices, I told you about them the day you executed me!” 

“... I thought you were kidding.” 

“Oh my god, why-” He thinks he can hear Techno get up and start to pace. “Why would I lie about something like that?”   
  
“I thought it was some play to get us not to bring you back to L’manberg.”   
  


A snort. “Well, obviously, but it was a real thing, not just some lame excuse. Between them and the wanted posters, I got a feeling that my peaceful cabin life was gonna get destroyed at some point.” 

Quackity paused, allowing the words to process. “Then… Why would you ever try to be peaceful in the first place?”   
  
The silence that followed was deafening. Footsteps, words, everything ceased for a good count of five, and then the murmuring and pacing returned. He still couldn’t make out exactly what the half-mob was saying, but knowing that he was talking to something that was glaringly out of Quackity’s earshot (and somehow comprehension) was partly reassuring, and partly worrying.

-

He was flying, gliding over Manberg, when he heard Schlatt call out to him. His president was standing atop the old Camarvan, waving him down, and he landed, following his would-be partner into the dingy interior. Once he stepped inside, though, the world distorted. The van was suddenly full of his fellow cabinet members, all engaged in conversation without him.

He put a careful hand on Fundy’s shoulder, only for the fox to whip around and snarl at him. “Don’t touch me, you fucking  _ idiot _ !”

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Ranboo murmured, a determined viciousness in his voice.

Tommy slammed his hands on the table, “You were supposed to fix things, not destroy them further!”   
And Tubbo, small, dangerous Tubbo, finally turned to look at him, eyes filling with contempt. “I promised I wouldn’t be the next  _ him _ . You should have, too.”

His head feels heavy. It’s getting hard to breathe.

He catches a glance at his reflection, backing away from the cabinet, and spies a pair of twisted ram horns sprouting from his forehead. 

The world distorts again, and he’s standing on the podium of Manberg. The suit around him is tight and constricting. His breath comes out in short, grey puffs.

They’re all staring at him, he realizes- Niki and Eret in fury, H and Bad and Ant in horror, and Karl and Sapnap-

They both look terrified of him, of what he’s become.

He coughs, and he can feel viscous, warm liquid drip past his lips. It’s crimson, and suddenly he can’t stop coughing, the pristine white of his dress shirt staining permanently.

Someone screams, there’s a blur of pink and red, and a crackle of fireworks-

He jolts awake with a scream, colliding with the obsidian wall as he scrambles to sit up. He rushes hands through his hair, frantically checking for any extrusions, breathing heavily. He couldn’t be- Schlatt wasn’t, he wasn’t-

_ THUD. _

Quackity’s train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a fist colliding with metal. 

“Hello? Quackity?!” Techno’s voice filtered through Quackity’s panic, “You okay in there?”

And, well, the concern was new, it seemed, but it was enough to ground him. He clutched at his long sleeves, pushing himself into the corner, pulling his knees to his chest. “Yeah,” he calls back, wincing at how badly his voice cracks and wavers. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He can hear Techno linger at the iron door, tapping at it hesitantly, before stumbling back over towards his cot. “Bad dreams?”

“Yeah.”

He makes a noise of understanding, and the silence that followed seemed almost deafening. 

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.” Quackity says, because he’s not about to discuss trauma with a war criminal he’s been imprisoned with.

Said war criminal waits a beat before speaking again. “Alright. Goodnight, Quackity.” He says, in his same bland monotone, but it feels different to him, somehow. The words hold the flatness of his speech, but the intent is different.

“Goodnight, Technoblade.”

  
  


-

“I think they’re trying to starve a life out of me.”    
  
From his cell, Quackity took a bite of the partly-stale bread that’d been delivered as his lunch. Things had fallen into a predictable enough cycle- apple for breakfast, bread for lunch, some kind of stew for dinner, and, if Sam was being gracious, a cookie for dessert. Of course, that’d been what  _ he’d _ gotten used to, but he could hear when the cell next to his was opened, and it was certainly less frequently than his own.

“What’re they giving you?”   
  
“The last two days’ve had rotten flesh in the soup,” his blockmate explained, and there was the pacing that Techno always did, only a touch slower this time. “I don’t feel too good.”

“Stop walking around so much, then, you’re gonna make yourself hungrier.” He reasoned. Common sense, really, but the walking next door didn’t stop.

If anything, it sped up. “That’s the point. They made me set spawn here, so… I might as well get it over with so I don’t feel so off.”

Quackity frowned, “Wait, let me at least try to talk to them first before you do that, it could just be an accident.”   
  
“Oh, sure, and the two of us are sitting in obsidian cages because of an  _ accident _ .” The sarcasm was thick in Techno’s voice, but, to his credit, the piglin stopped walking, settling on the cot.

-

“Dream scheduled and arranged rations specifically for the two of you. I’m just giving you both what I’ve been told to give.” 

-

It took a period of eight days for the Blade to waste away, during which his food supply had been completely cut, and he was on his feet and pacing for the first three. No sleep and no breaks had led to his collapse in the middle of the day. 

Quackity felt sick to his stomach, but some sadistic part of his mind screamed victory at his blockmate’s failing health. It was a success for the Butchers, he thought, Techno was another life closer to no longer being a problem to New L’manberg and El Rapids and Manifoldland-

But Techno hadn’t died silently. He’d been in pain, tangible in the way his voice shook through some strange prayer. Whether it was to some godly benefactor or just to the voices in his head, Techno hadn’t specified, but he’d begged for the safety of others in exchange for his longsuffering death. 

Quackity was sure he was delusional, but hearing the names spill forth- Phil, Tommy, Ghostbur,  _ please _ \- his heart twinged. Maybe the Blood God actually had a soul for once. It was a Christmas miracle.

(How close were they to Christmas? He had no clue.)

Either way, in the evening of the eighth day, when the prayers stopped, Quackity let out a relieved sigh. If he listened close, he thought, he might be able to pinpoint the exact moment where the other man’s heart stopped. Where the respawn magic took over, fixing broken things, making empty things whole.

He covered his ears.

He wondered if Techno would ever listen for something like that from Quackity, or if he’d do the same.

  
  


-

“So, you’re saying we’re here on light charges, but we’re not allowed any visitors? At all?”

He watched the gangly creeper hybrid shift uncomfortably, leaning against the doorframe to his cell. “Well… Basically, yeah. The security of the prison and its inhabitants is the top priority, and any visitors kinda go… against all that.” 

“And you didn’t integrate any way to safely bring anyone in? Even for your inmate’s mental health?” Quackity demanded. 

He swore, for an instant, he could hear a brief hiss come from the warden, the smell of sulfur wafting towards him. It was enough for him to back up, for a moment. 

“The rules are Dream’s rules, and I’m not exactly in a place to challenge them.” Sam said, and Quackity was ready to throw hands at his words. It was always Dream, Dream, Dream- it always had been Dream, at the end of the day, pulling the strings. 

“Tell Dream _ I  _ want to challenge them, then.” He says, channeling the pit of rage in the bottom of his stomach. He watches emotions flit past on Sam’s face, from confusion to worry, and then right back to passiveness. “I wanna see what his reasoning is, why I can’t see Karl or Sapnap or literally  _ anyone _ .”

Sam sighs, pushing off the entrance and backing up into the hallway. “I’ll pass him the message. Goodnight, Big Q.”

He wasn’t sure what made him flinch harder, the nickname or the slamming of the door to his cell. 

“If you lose your last life because of this one, I’m gonna laugh.” Techno drawls, and though he yells at the half-piglin to shut up, the trace of worry in the gruff voice near to him doesn’t go unnoticed. 

-

A week and a half later, he and Techno stand before the green menace. There’s a clear imbalance between them- Dream is in full enchanted netherite, and the purplish glow reflects on the iron cuffs around Quackity’s wrists. He’s chained with his arms in front of him, but Techno, ever the threat, has his arms behind his back. 

“You wanted to see me?” Dream asks, white porcelain mask boring holes into Quackity’s forehead. 

He nods, “I want to know why the fuck your visiting policy is so strict.”

Dream snickers, fiddling with the axe at his belt. “You- you’re in jail, you do realize that, right?”

“Even jails allow visitors, they don’t keep everyone stuck in little boxes all the goddamn time!”

“Maximum security prisons do.” He retorts, “This is what that is. You two are both guilty of disturbing the harmony of this server, and-“

“Under what court are we guilty?”

“We had no trial,” Techno interjects. “You can’t stifle rights without a trial.”

“Under  _ my _ court and jurisdiction, you’re guilty.”

Quackity balks, “You have no evidence!”

“I do-“

“Don’t take him seriously, Quackity, we’re dealing with a homeless man with a god complex.” 

Quackity’s whole train of thought falls apart a bit after that, especially because of how completely and legitimately offended Dream seems about it. Sam’s trying to hide his laughter, and Techno’s breathy chuckles are infectious. 

But, once they calm down enough, Dream’s sobriety drags his mood right back down to rock bottom. 

“I’ll tell you what, we can make this a challenge.” He steps back, leaning against one of the obsidian walls. “In a trial by combat, if the two of you can beat me, I’ll consider opening the case to the rest of the server and letting you each have one visitor.”

“And if we lose?” Quackity challenges. He can see Dream’s grin behind the mask. 

“If you lose, you both will be moved to the maximum security cell. You’ll never get any visitors, and I guarantee you’ll kill each other or rot to death. Whichever comes first.”

Techno shifts next to him, bindings clanking together. Quackity looks up at him, straight into crimson eyes, and he remembers the same fierceness and determination in them just before they’d gone to take back Manberg from Schlatt. There’s something like fear behind them now, too, but Techno nods at him. He’s willing to risk it, if Quackity is.

There’s unease building in his stomach, but he figures that now is not the time to back down. If they did, it’d be like they’d lost. You had to roll the dice to play the game, and he didn’t want to be left behind watching. 

“We accept your challenge.”

The soft clinking of cuffs being removed mingles with the similar sound of Dream pulling off his netherite, leaving him in his obnoxious green hoodie. He brandishes the axe from his belt, twirling it with a show-offish flourish. Techno scoffs, rubbing his wrists impatiently. “What weapons do we get?” 

“Oh, you’ll like this.” Dream grins, quickly placing an enderchest and withdrawing two familiar, well-smithed netherite blades. The sword, with ‘Obliterator’ etched on one side of the darkened metal, goes to Techno. The axe is tossed at Quackity’s feet, and, picking it up to examine it, he can see that ‘The Axe of Peace’ has been engraved into the hilt of it. Techno’s weapons, in Dream’s hands. The green bastard seems to catch on to their collective confusion and giggles, “These were a special token from a certain president for solving their pig problem.”

Quackity wants to slap Tubbo for giving up such a powerful resource. He can see Techno’s jaw tense, an aura of rage surrounding the half-piglin. Dream slips into a fighting stance, still twirling his stupid axe, “Whenever you’re ready,” he taunts. 

Techno follows suit, keeping precisely opposite, nearly mirroring their opponent’s footing. 

The two are dead-set on each other in an instant, zeroing in, analyzing- 

Quackity isn’t a fighter, formally, like them, and so he throws the etiquette around him out the door when he lunges at Dream, landing a hit on the taller’s leg. 

Dream looks almost shocked. Techno laughs, and uses the momentary shock to swipe at him, but Dream blocks. They fall into a strange rhythm of Quackity attacking, Techno following up and blocking, and, thank everything, he manages to connect blade to flesh a few times. 

But it looks like Dream gets impatient with them, and so far, the amount of cuts given to received overall seem about equal, so Dream stops focusing so hard on Techno… and instead deliberately aims for Quackity. 

The axe blade  _ hurts _ where it catches him in the shoulder, and a well-placed kick sends him stumbling back. While he recovers, he watches Techno try to skewer Dream through the ribs, but misplaced momentum causes him to stumble past their opponent. Dream rotates back to Quackity, and though he manages to successfully block an overhead swing, in trying to dodge, he inadvertently lets the taller hook the blade of his axe onto the wooden handle of Quackity’s, pulling it out of his grip. 

Weapon lost, he starts to panic, backing up as Dream equips the Axe of Peace in his offhand, readying another blow. 

But, unfortunately, the green bastard forgot about the pig in the room, and, seemingly inspired by Quackity’s strange and chaotic tactics, Techno holds the blade of the Orphan Obliterator to Dream’s neck, securing it into a chokehold position with his other hand. 

Quackity can see blood start to sizzle around the wound from the enchantment on the sword, and for a moment, he cheers.

For that moment, he sees victory.

There’s a  _ crack _ as Dream’s head makes contact with Techno’s nose, and an instant later, the latter is on the ground, courtesy of the former pulling his leg out from under him. 

Dream wastes no time in pinning the other’s dominant arm to the ground with his weapon, before raising a boot, right above the wrist, and-

_ CRUNCH. _

Techno cries out in pain. Quackity lunges to go to his aid, but a hand at his collar stops him- Sam holds him back, despite his protests. 

All he could do was watch as Dream swapped the axes in his hands, wound up, and swung down, right into the Blade’s chest. 

Blood spattered. The body dissipated into a puff of white smoke. 

Dream laughed. “We’re even now,” he murmured, and Quackity felt sick. “Six to six.”

Sam looked like he felt about the same. “Dream-“

“Move them to max. I don’t want to hear about this again.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> oh, what’s this? a minor cliffhanger?  
> let me know what you think in the comments :D  
> my inbox is open at @simonsaysily on tumblr !!
> 
> -si


End file.
